Cold
by balai
Summary: Katara was a liar. She wasn't cold. Not at all. One-shot.


**Disclaimer: This is a work of fan-fiction and therefore the author claims no rights to the original content or characters (Avatar: the Last Airbender).  
**

**I was originally going to use this in another story I've started-but-haven't-published, but I liked it better as a one-shot.**

**I'm not sure what the rating should be on this, to be honest. But regardless, let me know what you think!**

* * *

The first night, she sneaks into his room on silent, skillful feet. The door makes no sounds as she slides it shut behind her and slips across the floor to the immense, dark bed that he lies in. She lifts the thin, silken covers and slides beneath them, her body close to his but not touching. He doesn't notice until then, and when he rolls over to face her (his question boiling steadily behind his sleep-shrouded eyes) she looks up at him innocently—sadly—and curls in on herself.

_"I'm cold."_

The seventh night, she's as silent as the fourth (and each night in between). She slips beneath his covers and he's already turned to her and she smiles when he's lightly roused from his sleep. His eyes drift shut again, unperturbed by the sight of her there, and he's just about to nod off again when he feels her hands sliding across his bare chest and greedily palming the strong muscles of his torso. He starts, and looks down at her as she continues her tactical exploration of his chest—his sides, his back—and when she finally meets his gaze, there's no real answer in her bright blue eyes. A small, sad, _fabricated _smile plays at her lips.

_"I'm cold."_

The tenth night, her hands are scorching and are no surprise against his soft chest. Then her fingers begin to play at the waistband of his pants, and the Prince can't help but jump back in shock—wondering if he should ask her to leave (if he should wish she wasn't there) or if it would just upset her (if instead he should wish he didn't _want_ her there).

_"I'm cold."_

On the fourteenth night, she's completely naked and he feigns sleep (and forces himself not to quip at her that she wouldn't be so cold if she were wearing clothes).

_"I'm cold."_

On the seventeenth night, he can no longer pretend to be asleep, and he can no longer pretend to be oblivious to her undressed state. He faces her, eyes meeting hers tenderly, and he refuses his gaze to stray from her face—but his hands have a mind of their own.

"_I'm cold."_

As their hands grew braver, he stopped counting the nights.

_"I'm cold."_

He knows she's a liar.

_"I'm cold."_

She isn't cold.

_'I'm so cold.'_

Her tongue is hot and moist on his ear and her teeth graze against his skin, nipping gently and not-so-gently at the tender flesh on his neck.

_'I'm so cold, Zuko.'_

At some point, she made a point to straddle him—_and_ _thank Agni he still had his clothes on this time—a_nd her tongue was hot as it drew languid strokes along his neck, his chest and—_oh, fuck—_his stomach. His breathing wasn't breathing anymore as it came out in pants and his eyes weren't closed in lethargy, but in torment—sweet, mind-numbing torment. Her teeth nipped their way across his chest and when she reached his neck this time, she bit down hard (he hadn't expected that, and he'd be lying if he said his groan wasn't loud enough to wake up the entire west wing).

_"Oh, Zuko, I'm so cold."_

He bit her back and at first she mewled pleasurably at the sensation. Then he bit harder—his tongue flicking out to soothe the wound—and she _screamed_.

_"Agni, Zuko!"_

He didn't know when she'd started praying to his god (he could have sworn he'd only ever heard her pray to the sea and the moon). But with his hands gripping at her hips and her nails digging into his lower back, he couldn't find it in him to question her—but he felt it only fair to correct her.

_"Oh, Agni. Agni. Agni. Agni—"_

His lips swallowed her words and she pulled away gasping for air. He corrected her—_"The name's Zuko."_ Her eyes were hazed and her lips pulled into a slow, devious smile and he knew that she knew.

_"Zuko!"_

They collapsed—utterly spent—and he laid on top of her (he knew he should move because he didn't want to hurt her, but it felt so _nice_). When he finally rolled away, she growled her dislike but he pulled her to his side with a chuckle and idly wondered where the sheets had ended up _this time_.

_"Are you still cold?"_


End file.
